


If The Heavens Ever Did Speak

by Lacerta26



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Blowjobs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Priest Kink, almost certainly blasphemy, blasphemy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26
Summary: ‘You want me to what?’ says Eggsy, voice rising in pure incredulity.‘Go undercover as…’ begins Merlin.‘...a priest?!’‘Vicar,’ Merlin has a wry smile on his face that indicates he’s enjoying this far too much and Harry raises his eyes to the ceiling in a brief plea for forbearance.*Eggsy has to wear a dog collar and Harry gets hot under his.





	If The Heavens Ever Did Speak

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I've been listening to too much Hozier and watching Andrew Scott as the Sexy Priest in Fleabag.
> 
> Have I written something as poetic and unflinchingly honest as either of those things? Absolutely not. 
> 
> Eggsy goes undercover as a vicar, Harry is in to it; if this is the sort of thing likely to upset you please don't read.
> 
> Happy Easter, I guess?

‘You want me to what?’ says Eggsy, voice rising in pure incredulity.

‘Go undercover as…’ begins Merlin.

‘...a priest?!’

‘Vicar,’ Merlin has a wry smile on his face that indicates he’s enjoying this far too much and Harry raises his eyes to the ceiling in a brief plea for forbearance.

‘Mate, I barely remember the words to the Lord’s Prayer I ain’t cut out for cassocks and altar boys and all that pervy shit,’ Eggsy crosses his arms and looks imploringly at Harry who resolutely stares down at the mission file not taking in a word.

‘You’ll be undercover as an Anglican minister,’ says Merlin and at Eggsy’s frown, ‘Church of England. Barely a hint of religiosity among the lot of them.’

Eggsy rolls his eyes, ‘oh, well, that’s OK, then.’

Merlin laughs and claps him on the shoulder, ‘it’s cups of tea and sympathy, lad. You’ll be fine.’

Harry looks at the floor. Maybe he should stick to where he’s better acquainted: his prayers have never been answered before and this suddenly feels a lot like his own personal hell.

*

Eggsy blows out an exasperated breath over the file he’s reading. Harry knows it’s the mission he’s dubbed “Carry on Reverend” in an attempt to make the situation so ridiculous he’ll stop finding the thing so bloody alluring.

‘I dunno,’ says Eggsy, oblivious to Harry’s discomfort, ‘it’s all a bit WI. I thought bein’ a spy would be glamorous. You know how many people live in this village, Harry? 150! There was more than that living on my old estate.’

Harry raises his eyebrows benignly as if he finds the topic of conversation incredibly boring. This kind of low stakes mission is their bread and butter; getting under the skin of a situation _before_ it gets out of hand. Granted, it rarely involves going undercover in the church but needs must. Harry is about as religious as anyone who grew up half heartedly Church of England. He remained resolutely unaffected by Jude Law in the Young Pope despite Eggsy’s vocal appreciation of the man’s arse and gave up after two episodes. He does not have a _thing._ He didn’t have a thing. He’s certainly not thinking about it.

What he says, because Eggsy’s looking at him expectantly is, ‘someone is laundering huge amounts of money through the golf course and the last vicar died in mysterious circumstances so in we must go.’

‘You sure it’s not just cause you wanna see me in a dog collar?’ Eggsy says tongue tucked behind his teeth, not that oblivious after all.

Harry chokes rather inelegantly on the denial that he’s been thinking any such thing, turns it into a cough at the last minute. Trouble is, Eggsy knows him too well and it’s _all_ he’s been thinking about since Merlin gleefully marched into his office a week ago to say, ‘Arthur, I’m sending Galahad on a mission to the Cotswolds. He’ll be undercover as a vicar.’

He’s at serious risk of popping a stiffy every time Eggsy says bless you when someone sneezes and it’s not like Harry needs anything else in his life of highly paid espionage and violence to feel guilty about. Eggsy comes round the breakfast table to put himself in Harry’s lap because he has all the subtlety of a freight train and no such qualms, to say ‘you know what they say about priests..?’

‘Vicars,’ he can feel a hot blush rising in his cheeks as Eggsy squirms to get comfy. 

‘Right, vicars...you know what they say about vicars, Harry?’

‘What’s that darling?’ he keeps his voice and his eyes entirely level with the patch of skin revealed by the collar of Eggy’s polo shirt. He knows what he’ll find if he meets Eggsy’s eyes and it doesn’t think he has the strength to resist the challenge.

Eggsy shifts with more purpose this time and whispers, breath hot against Harry’s cheek, ‘they have to spend a lot of time on their knees.’

Eggsy isn’t usually a tease. He knows _how_ to tease of course, if asked, but it’s unlikely he’s giving Harry enough rope to hang himself only to take away all that he appears to be offering for a laugh.  Even so Harry reaches forward for the paper and slides Eggsy off his lap with much pouting and rolling of eyes, 'I'll leave you to practice then, shall I?' and heads out of the room before the line of his trousers can give him away.

*

It’s a small mercy or a great relief that Harry is called away on a last minute mission so he misses the moment Eggsy leaves for the Cotswolds. He’s avoided all of Eggsy’s meetings with Merlin on the subject and refused to offer his opinion on the outfits, making sure he was out of the shop during the fittings. He's beginning to suspect Eggsy thinks he's reticence is down to his previous experiences but the escapade in Kentucky has barely crossed his mind, a far cry from picturesque little churches, village fêtes and tea with the vicar. Time is a great leveller and still flushed from the high of another successful mission he finds the temptation too great and despite increasingly lacklustre efforts in the other direction he ends up detouring on his way home with the intention of surprising Eggsy.

Merlin, tracking his GPS, announces his disapproval with a pointed cough in Harry’s ear, ‘this is not the most efficient route home, Arthur.’

‘I’m taking a few days off. Surely I’ve earned a holiday?’

‘Not if you’re going to use it to mess up another mission, I can't have you distracting Galahad.’

‘I won’t distract him. I’m merely a tourist, enjoying what the Cotswolds have to offer. Now, can you book me a room somewhere or will I have to sleep in my car?’

‘I’m not putting this on expenses. This is coming out of your salary.’

‘Don’t worry I’m sure I can afford it,’ says Harry with a wry smile in his rearview mirror before disconnecting his comms.

The confirmation of his booking at somewhere called The Rectory, Merlin's idea of a joke, pings up on his glasses as he turns down the narrow country lane in to the village of Yatton Langley an hour later. The late afternoon sun makes the Cotswold stone houses glow golden and it almost feels like travelling back in time; Harry is a city boy at heart, having spent much of his adolescence at his uncle’s house in London rather than at his parents country estate, but even he can admit it is beautiful.

The hotel is tiny, sat away from the main road, between the village pub and a duck pond; quaint doesn’t begin to cover it and the girl behind the reception checks him in with perfunctory politeness and hands him a bouquet of tourist leaflets including one, which Harry pretends to be only mildly interested in, that details service times at the parish church. 

*

The following day he heads to the church as nonchalantly as possible just as the morning service is ending, watches the small congregation leaving from his spot outside. It’s mostly elderly couples, a few small families and bringing up the stragglers, Eggsy, talking gently to a young woman, someone’s teenage daughter.

Harry had every intention of catching a quick glance at him and heading back to his hotel but Eggsy looks like the worst temptation. The sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to reveal his strong, tanned forearms and his hair is gently parted, soft against his forehead. The white band at his neck sits close to his adam’s apple and Harry longs to get his fingers beneath it, feel Eggsy’s pulse against his skin. Harry has spent many a long daydream thinking about Eggsy’s arse and he’s pretty sure no vicar anywhere has ever looked as good in the utilitarian black slacks as Eggsy does now.

Just as Harry is toying with making a swift exit Eggsy looks up as he waves the girl on, startled eyes making contact with Harry, squinting in the sunshine. Harry supposes he presents a sinister figure, in his dark suit in the balmy weather, loitering in a graveyard but Eggsy breaks in to a grin that’s almost laughter and that decides it - he has never been able to resist that smile.

He comes out from under his tree, nodding politely, ‘good day, father.’

Eggsy smiles again but it’s lighter this time, more impersonal, ‘hi, how can I help you, sir?’

Harry takes a few steps towards the church, ignoring the frisson “sir” sends up his spine, ‘I was just admiring your beautiful church, can you tell me something of its history?’

‘Of course, if you'd like to follow me,’ Eggsy steps into the cool, dark interior and Harry, briefly blinded by the change in light, follows, ‘is everything ok with the mission, Arthur?’

‘Yours or mine?’

‘Either,’ Eggsy looks at him reproachfully, shoes clicking on the stone floor of the nave, he doesn’t like it when they babysit him, ‘why are you here, Harry?’

‘My mission finished rather quicker than I thought. I came to see how you were getting on.’

At Eggsy's raised eyebrow he admits, ‘I couldn’t resist.’

Eggsy laughs and it echoes off the vaulted ceilings, ‘I knew it!,’ and steps further away, gestures expansively at himself, the church, _God_ , ‘you have a thing for this get up!’

Harry catches his hand to pull them closer together, chest to chest, ‘I confess, it might have taken me a little by surprise. It looks very well on you.’

‘They don’t do confessions here.’

‘No? I shall have to keep all my sins to myself then.’

Eggsy rolls his eyes as if his lines are any better and goes up on his tiptoes to kiss Harry, gentle and teasing. Harry nods his head towards the door, still standing open, ‘that thing lock?’

‘ _Harry,_ we can’t. Not in here,’ Eggsy rarely sounds scandalised by the pervy things Harry says but the look on his face would be at home in the parish newsletter.

Harry glances skyward, ‘what? Don’t like the idea of an audience?’

‘No...just…’

‘You like it too.’

‘It’s not about me.’

Harry softens his voice, catches Eggsy’s hand, ‘please,’ and that does it, that’s what Eggsy wants - to know he’s giving Harry something special.

He goes to lock the door with a heavy key on a piece of string and returns to Harry’s side tugging at his hand to pull him across the flagstones, ‘let’s go to my office. It probably counts as slightly less consecrated than in here,’ but Harry stops him, turns them in the bright patch of colourful sunlight in front of the pulpit and goes to his knees.

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Harry will do,’ he murmurs, hands to Eggsy’s thighs, warm and firm beneath his fingertips and at Eggsy’s stuttered breath he opens Eggsy’s fly, breathes in the smell of him, warm and sweet like the summer outside.

The floor is cold against Harry’s knees and Eggsy feels like a furnace, radiating heat, light splitting behind him and making his hair look like a halo. Harry needs to get this out of his system, good lord.

Eggsy strokes a hand through Harry’s hair, tips his head back, ‘Harry, look at me,’ and Harry finds he can’t suddenly, just wants the physical, grounding reality of Eggsy’s prick in his mouth, hands in his hair. He takes Eggsy out of his trousers, dick already gratifyingly hard, fat and dripping in his hand and Eggsy sways forward into his touch as Harry lets himself get lost in the sensation, the salty taste spreading quickly on his tongue. He only dimly hears Eggsy’s bitten off moans above him, lets the head of Eggsy’s dick fill his throat, his mind blank and whole body yearning upwards, desperate to get closer, an invitation for Eggsy to _take._

Eggsy runs gentle hands through his hair, soft skittering touches across Harry’s scalp that leave him wanting more. Although Harry is not a religious man but he knows a thing or two about worship and dressed like this Eggsy feels like something he shouldn't be able to have, like getting on his knees isn’t good enough. He presses further forward, taking Eggsy deeper, gratified by the noise it drags out of him. Harry stays like that, on the hard floor, swallowing and slowly running out of oxygen with Eggsy’s cock shoved halfway down his throat, like he belongs there, and feels the seconds drag on as prickling, ecstatic awareness at the edges of his vision.

Just as he feels like he might pass out Eggsy drags his dick out, rests the head, sticky, against Harry’s bottom lip and Harry risks a glance upwards to where he’s is pink cheeked and breathing hard. Eggsy quirks an eyebrow, a silent question where giving it voice would spoil the mood, hushed and reverent as it is underscored with the heady haze of desperation. Harry is grateful for the silence, tips his face up and hopes he won’t have to say it out loud, doesn’t think he could around the sting in his throat and the lust turning his thoughts syrupy and slow. Eggsy nods once, like he thinks he’s got it, quick, smart boy, and Harry lets Eggsy’s dick slide across his tongue, not so deep this time, no showing off, just quick, efficient movement, wet and focused on his goal.

He can feel it probably before Eggsy does, before the strangled noise he makes and the tight grip he takes on Harry’s hair to tip his face back and come, strips of it landing across Harry’s cheeks, his squeezed shut eyes and his wide open mouth. Eggsy does speak then, sliding to the floor with a delighted peal of laughter, ‘fuck, your fucking mouth.’

Harry doesn’t move, just sits there, basking in the too hot, too much feeling of arousal coursing through his body, blinks open his eyes to see Eggsy flushed sweaty and grinning, tucking his tongue between his teeth to say, ‘what is it you want Harry?’

He shakes his head, draws them both to their feet and fishes his hankerchief from his pocket to sort out the mess of his face as Eggsy tucks himself away. Harry’s trousers are uncomfortably tight and hiding absolutely nothing and he has no desire to do anything about it, ‘nothing, darling boy, you’re perfect, that was perfect.’

‘Come on, you can’t let me leave you hanging,’ Eggsy is warm and soft against him, outfit barely rumpled, nary a hair out of place, an unholy temptation Harry has every intention of resisting. For now.

He smiles against Eggsy’s mouth and slips his hotel keycard into his hand, ‘pay me a house call later?’

‘I take it you’d rather I didn't change into civvies?

Harry takes one pace back, ‘if you wouldn’t mind, father.’

*

Of course Eggsy never does make it to Harry’s hotel room because things take a rather dramatic turn for the worse and Harry’s impromptu holiday ends with him swinging a golf club into the face of a man experimenting with some serious biological weaponry.

The whole mission and Harry’s appreciation of Eggsy as a man of the cloth gets forgotten until months later when Harry gets home from the shop to find Eggsy sat in the living room in black shirt and trousers, dog collar snug at his throat, actually flicking through the pages of a fucking bible. Christ. Harry coughs around the constriction in his throat because he might come in his pants at the sight and the smile Eggsy gives him when he looks up is filthy.

‘Hey, babe,’ says Eggsy, standing and crossing the room to get into Harry’s space, ‘I thought since we never got round to properly enjoying this whole deal I might crack the outfit out for you again?’

He looks sweetly amused but there’s a tilt to his mouth that suggests he might think this was a one time deal Harry isn’t interested in anymore but Harry is too old to deny his desires, puts paid to that notion with a quick kiss to Eggsy’s lips and a comprehensive grope of his arse, ‘you’re a saint and I don’t deserve you.’

Eggsy grins, ‘too right,’ and then suddenly serious in a way that makes all Harry's blood rush south, ‘now, when did you last say your prayers?’

 


End file.
